


Paint me (A picture of two lovers)

by commatme



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, First Time, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and then move on to other activities for two, steve and danny paint danny's living room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commatme/pseuds/commatme
Summary: The problem is Danny, or rather the jeans and ratty black T-shirt he’s wearing. The jeans are old and carry mysterious stains and seem to be on the just-a-size-too-small side, which has to be why they’ve been delegated to a life as painting clothes, but is also part of why they’re going to haunt Steve’s dreams.Or: “Watch where you’re going,” Danny cautions, but Steve can’t, because he’s watching Danny instead.





	Paint me (A picture of two lovers)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is, but I think it's finished, so that makes it A Fic, at least. The title is from Out of Love by Toto.

Danny is repainting his own living room, which is how it all starts. Steve helps him do it – of course Steve helps him do it, he’s a good friend, or at least he tries to be – and the day is productive and full of banter as much as it is an endurance test. Not in any way that has to do with the actual work, because Steve may not be an active SEAL anymore, but he’s in a good enough shape by far to be able to do a little painting of some flat walls without encountering any trouble there.

The problem is Danny, or rather the jeans and ratty black T-shirt he’s wearing. The jeans are old and carry mysterious stains and seem to be on the just-a-size-too-small side, which has to be why they’ve been delegated to a life as painting clothes, but is also part of why they’re going to haunt Steve’s dreams. The faded denim molds to the shape of Danny’s ass in a way that has Steve worry about stains of a very different kind in his own pants. The T-shirt is form-fitting as well, but funnily enough that turns out to be the least of Steve’s concerns there, because it also keeps riding up and showing a maddening strip of skin every time Danny lifts his arms. Danny, being all of 5’5, has to lift his arms a lot. 

And then there’s the paint, and the specks of it that Danny gets on his face and arms and his dark shirt. It’s like they’re inverted freckles, or maybe a constellation of stars that decided Danny would be a good center of a new universe, like they’re the first to think that, like Steve hasn’t had that thought a thousand times over but been unable to do anything about it except look and wish and long for something he isn’t going to get.

Best not to think about the paint. The paint is just going to drive Steve mad.

So it starts with the two of them, dancing around a can of white with rollers and brushes. It’s hard work, but doing it together is companionable and fun and comes with enough banter to distract Steve from his all too obvious staring, even if just a little bit. He has a good day, and then they’re done, and seem to realize simultaneously that the paint fumes have penetrated the entire house and Danny definitely shouldn’t be sleeping here tonight.

Steve cleans the brushes while Danny packs a bag, and then they both hop in Steve’s truck – he took it to get here that morning, and it makes no sense driving two cars over – and they go home. To Steve’s home. Whatever.

“I call dibs on the shower,” Danny announces when they get inside. 

Steve might have fought him on it at least a little, but Danny squeezes past him and their bare arms brush and Steve smells paint and sweat and he’s still standing frozen by the door, watching Danny’s back as he jogs up the stairs, when he realizes he probably should’ve said something. “Don’t use up all the hot water!” he calls after Danny, belatedly. He’s not even sure Danny still hears him.

He stands there for another moment, a feeling a little like certain doom hanging over him, before he decides to make himself useful. At least that’s something he still knows how to do. He heads for the kitchen, where he downs a big glass of water to freshen up before he starts taking stock of the contents of his fridge to determine what’s for dinner. All leftovers have been used up over the past few days while they worked late on a case and ordering in would take a while, so a quick Bolognese seems like the best way to go. It will have the added benefit of either pleasing Danny because it reminds him of his grandmother, or annoying him because it will never be as good as her cooking. Either way, Steve gets to listen to Danny ramble on about food.

By the time Steve turns the stove off, pasta and pork and tomato sauce still happily bubbling, Danny still hasn’t shown his face. Steve’s not going to go knocking on the bathroom door – his self-control really doesn’t need the temptation to feel frayed – but he could yell from the bottom of the stairs that dinner is ready, he figures. 

He never makes it that far. 

“Whoa,” Danny exclaims, when Steve runs into him in the door opening between the kitchen and the living room. Either that, or he runs into Steve, or whatever. Who’s at fault isn’t important, anyway, because Danny’s hands end up briefly on Steve’s chest as they get squished between them and Steve instinctively grabs Danny’s hips to steady him. “Watch where you’re going,” Danny cautions, but Steve can’t, because he’s watching Danny instead.

Danny is wearing sweatpants and a clean T-shirt now, and his hair is slicked back as usual but by water more than product, and he smells of soap and the deodorant Steve has come to associate with being yelled at but somehow happy about it. And, oh-

Danny in the old clothes with paint all over him was an alluring sight, but this, this is Danny with his guard down, looking comfortable and like he belongs in this house, and Steve is not prepared for how hard that hits his gut. It’s stupid. He’s seen Danny in sweatpants before; he’s even seen Danny in sweatpants in Steve’s house before, back when Danny crashed here for a couple of weeks. It’s still not the same. Maybe he hadn’t fallen as miserably far yet back then, or maybe his defenses have already taken a good battering today because he’s been in enclosed spaces with Danny and only Danny since very early this morning, or maybe he got hit by an electric current when he touched Danny and it paralyzed him. It certainly feels that way.

Any or all of those things could be to blame when he doesn’t take his hands from Danny’s waist immediately. Danny is looking up at him, so close Steve can hear him breathe, and Steve can’t concentrate on what Danny’s face looks like exactly because it takes too much willpower not to lean in and see if Danny kisses like he talks – confident, teasing and like he could and very well might keep doing it for hours, because he’s enjoying himself way too much. 

Danny shifts in place like he’s going to break free, but he doesn’t. His hips sway in Steve’s grip.

Danny’s eyes flit down, ever so briefly, to Steve’s lips.

“Can I?” Steve blurts, not even sure what he’s asking until he sees Danny’s pupils dilate and realizes he just slipped the middle and index finger of both hands under the waistband of Danny’s sweatpants. He didn’t mean to do that. He can’t find it in himself to regret it.

At least it’ll be out there, now.

There’s a quick flicker of Danny’s pink tongue. “I don’t know,” he says, voice lower than Steve knows it. “Can you?”

That’s better than a yes – it’s a challenge. He acts before his brain has a chance to catch up and alert him that it’s a bad idea to let his heart and dick take over: he pushes, and Danny lets himself be walked in a half circle until they’re out of the doorway and Danny’s back is against the living room wall right next to the door jamb. Steve sinks to his knees, his heart pounding, mouth watering.

He glances up one last time to be sure, but he finds Danny looking down at him with bated breath, so he wastes no more time before pulling Danny’s sweatpants and underwear down to around his calves. Danny’s dick is still limp, but on its way to half hard. When Steve curls one hand around the base and licks the crease of Danny’s thigh, Danny grunts. 

“Okay, so apparently, you can.”

Steve grins – this, this is good, so he’s going to enjoy it – and deliberately fans warm breath over the head of Danny’s stiffening dick before he asks, “Want me to stop?”

“If you stop here-” Danny speaks very seriously, like this is of the utmost importance. “-we’re going to have words.”

“Oh, hey. Wouldn’t want that.”

“Right,” Danny says, like it was probably supposed to be followed by something. Whatever it was gets lost when Steve angles Danny’s dick to take the tip between his lips and suck. Danny tastes way too clean, and Steve mourns the fact that he didn’t get to him before the shower. 

He suckles the head for a bit until Danny is most definitely, fully erect, and then pulls off with a deliberate pop. Danny looks down at him, scandalized, and he looks up, feeling good about himself. One of Danny’s hands has shot out and is gripping the door jamb, white-knuckled, like he needs something to steady him. 

Steve desperately wants to be that something. He lets go of Danny’s dick, which stands up perfectly well on its own now, and wraps both hands around Danny’s beautiful, slim hips. This time, there’s only bare skin under his fingers.

“What, what,” Danny starts saying, sounding somewhat out of his mind but probably working up to a scathing complaint about the sudden lack of touching, knowing him. He’s still saying it when Steve opens up wide, pins Danny against the wall and takes him in, _really_ takes him in, inhaling him, sliding down until his nose is buried in hair.

Danny moans. Steve’s dick is already straining against the zipper of his own cargo shorts.

The last time he did this was months ago, with a nameless stranger in nameless dive, and it wasn’t _this_. It wasn’t digging his nails in Danny’s hipbone, Danny’s scent thick in his nostrils, Danny’s cock sliding in and out and smearing precome over his tongue. Danny making little, needy sounds; Danny’s hand landing on his head, not guiding him, but definitely making suggestions. Steve goes with it, because it’s not like he doesn’t know how to say no, it’s just that he doesn’t see why he would ever want to.

He groans and lets go of Danny’s hip with one hand to grab his own dick. There are two layers of fabric between it and his hand, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. He squeezes three, four times and comes in a hot rush in his own pants.

If he weren’t so overwhelmed, he’d probably be laughing at himself. 

Danny’s sounds are getting louder, and that’s interesting. That’s something to file away, in hopes of getting to experience it all over again in the future to compare and contrast, or if not, then at least in his imagination when he jerks off. A dull ache is blooming in his jaw, but even that is good, and he forgets all about it when Danny’s second hand touches him very close to there, rubbing two fingers over his skin. He sucks harder, because he can feel Danny tremble under his hands and mouth, above him, before him, because of him.

Danny comes relatively quietly, thick fluid coating the inside of Steve’s mouth while he alternately curses and praises Steve in a rapid mutter. (“Fuck, I hate you, I hate your clever mouth, you’re way too good at that.”) Steve swallows and swallows until it’s over, when Danny sags against the wall and his rant tapers off until he starts making warning sounds instead because his oversensitive dick is still in Steve’s mouth. Steve lets it slip out, but is unwilling to back off completely. He sneaks his arms around Danny’s waist and rests his temple against Danny’s belly and hangs on.

Danny’s breathing slowly evens out. “You can never do anything with just fifty percent effort behind it, can you? You always have to go for the extra merit badge.”

“What, are you saying you wanted me to give you a bad blowjob?” His voice is a little raspy. He sounds like he’s been swallowing down someone’s cock.

Danny is quiet for about three breaths, like he’s considering it, or maybe just basking in the afterglow like Steve is. “Well, no,” he finally admits. “You got me there. I’m selfish enough to appreciate your perfectionism.” He pulls, futilely, at Steve’s shoulder. “Speaking of, get up here and let me give you a hand.”

Steve huffs against Danny’s naked hip, and then bites the skin, lightly, just because he can and because it’s a fun way to procrastinate. “Too late.”

“Oh.” Danny says it in a way that’s also going to end up with a starring role in Steve’s fantasies. Like it’s very interesting, but at the same time some kind of torture. 

Steve cranes his neck to look up at him without having to move his head away much, and finds Danny already staring down. Danny lifts a hand to touch his cheek and he leans into it instinctively, because there is no force on earth that could stop him. 

Danny, a man made of miracles as far as Steve’s concerned, looks like he gets it. “God,” he murmurs.

Which gets Steve leering at him, because that’s too good to pass up. “Steve’s fine, you know.”

Danny moans – not the same way as before – and pulls his hand back, but he’s not doing a very good job of biting down on his own smile, so Steve can live with it. 

Danny straightens up against the wall like he’s about to move, but then he just pulls his underwear and pants back up and slides down, like his legs have finally given out, until he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. It’s tricky figuring out a place for all their limbs that won’t end up with anything cramping up within thirty seconds, because four legs doesn’t sound like that much, but it can be a surprisingly difficult number. Eventually they manage to get settled, and then they’re entangled and damn near cuddling on the floor. It’s ridiculous. Steve wants to kiss Danny really, really badly.

“Come here, then,” Danny says, like he can read minds now on top of everything else, or more probably like he can read Steve’s face, and pulls Steve in for just that. He doesn’t seem to give a hoot about the places Steve’s mouth has just been or the taste that’s still lingering under his tongue, so Steve forgets his hesitation and goes for it. The slick slide of Danny’s tongue against his own makes him think about a possible round two – the cuddling indicates there might be hope – even though there’s no way he’s getting it up again so quickly.

Danny breaks their kiss with another kiss, planted on the edge of Steve’s mouth. “You’re going to need a change of pants. That’s going to get very uncomfortable very soon.”

He’s most definitely right. It’s already not great, but getting up is just about the last thing Steve wants. “In a minute,” he says, a promise to himself as much as Danny. 

Danny shakes his head, but gets distracted staring at the corner of Steve’s jaw. He runs a thumb over it, gently. “You have paint here, you know that? It’s been driving me crazy.”

That’s when Steve, boldly, starts daring to hope for a little more than two rounds.


End file.
